


When you can't repay the pain

by SeparationBoundary



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aftercare, Drugging, F/M, Feitan gets hurt, Implied Torture, Implied Violence, Imprisonment, Tsunderes, apparently riding his dick is theraputic, bad, but is still horny, for him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 14:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11128353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeparationBoundary/pseuds/SeparationBoundary
Summary: Feitan is captured, drugged, and tortured.  When he is thrown into a damp, dark, cell he is not alone.  Another prisoner is there and he becomes her purpose.  Feitan, drugged and in pain, doesn't know if he wants to kill her or fuck her.  He does know he wants to get free.  He makes up his mind, finally, picking two of the three.





	When you can't repay the pain

**Author's Note:**

> Again, phonetic spelling for drugged Feitan. It was really a challenge since he speaks broken Japanese anyway. Also, it was very, very hard for me to write Feitan hurt. I hated every second of my darling suffering. :( But my ever-horny Fei gave me life.

F x OC - When you can’t repay the pain

 

 

When they first tossed the man into the room, the girl thought it was a bundle of dark clothing.

 

She sat, back against the wall, knees drawn up to her chest, shivering in the only slice of light in the dank space.  She regarded the heap of fabric with suspicion.  Was this a trick?

 

After a long while, her slice of light had moved, but the clothing had not.  She scuttled slowly towards it, keeping her eye on the door.  Except for her personal beam of light the entire room was in darkness.  The light came from a single ‘window’, actually a barred opening, shaped like a semicircle - flat on bottom, round on top.  The bars were too close together to even fit her hand through but it didn't matter.  The window was three metres above the floor.

 

The girl never left her crouching position and circled around, keeping her face towards the door and a sharp eye on it.  That’s when she recognised the shape of a shoulder and a hip and she realised that the heap was a human.

 

She retreated fast, to the farthest corner of the room, pressing her back against the wall and hugging her knees.  She hid her face on her knees.  Maybe if she couldn’t see the person, the person couldn’t see her, a classic childishness.  But if the person couldn’t  _ see _ her, he or she couldn’t  _ hurt  _ her.

 

\---

 

It had been six hours and the person hadn't moved  The hatch in the bottom of the massive wooden door had opened several hours ago and her one meal, a nameless gruel long since gone cold, had been slid through.  The girl had anxiously watched the dark pile.  Would it (her mind had begun thinking of the pile as a monster and not a person) eat her food?  Would it eat her?

 

But it hadn't so much as stirred.  She had started to think that perhaps she was sharing her space with a corpse.

 

But that was hours ago.  She needed her food.  Maybe the person / monster / corpse had something in it’s pockets she could use.  Maybe she could cover up with it’s clothing.  It was so cold.

 

The girl finally screwed up her courage and crept toward the source of her fear.  She poked at its … shoulder?  It rocked slightly.  If it was a person, then that person was small.  She tried pulling at the shoulder.

At that, the person rolled over onto it’s back.

It was a man, a small man, with pale, smooth skin.  

She stared, horrified.

His beautiful face had been beaten.  Badly.  Both lips were split and swollen, blood had dried from his nose and mouth all down his chin and onto his chest.  His left cheek and eye were a mess of bruises and cuts.

Abruptly a thin trickle of fresh blood trailed out of the corner of his mouth.

 

He was alive.

 

\---

 

The girl had snagged her meal and dragged the little man - he was surprisingly heavy - over to her corner.  She carefully arranged him on his back.  When she had gulped down her cold gluey gruel she gingerly pulled his long dress-like tunic over his head. It was almost a black shredded rag rather than clothing and was slick with blood.  When she got it off, her hand flew to her mouth. 

 

_ How was this guy even alive? _

 

The man had not just been beaten.  He had been tortured.

 

His left side was one big bruise and she was pretty sure that at least two ribs were broken.  Three fingers were broken on his right hand.  Both wrists were skinned raw, down to the muscle,  from what she assumed was rope that tied him. The cruelest of all was the ladder of knife cuts, carefully spaced, down his sternum.  There were six.

 

She wondered if he had talked.  He looked so beautiful and innocent.  How had he endured all of this?  What did he know that they wanted?

 

She ripped his black undershirt into rags and began cleaning his wounds.  The one advantage to being held prisoner in a stone walled room where the steady sound of dripping could be heard was that you never lacked for water.

She went back and forth, dabbing at his mangled skin and rinsing the cloth in the runoff.  She must have rinsed it 50 times.  He had stirred a few times but hadn’t woken.  She searched through his soft, straight, black hair for any head wounds but he didn't seem to have any.  

Why was he not waking up?

 

She got her answer about an hour later, just before dawn.  The room was at its blackest - there must have been no moon - when the door swung open.  A tall shadow entered, glanced around and grunted when he spotted the small man.  The girl shrank into the smallest ball she could manage but the shadow man ignored her.  He strode directly to the small man, grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked him up, tilting his head back.  He poured some horrible looking yellow liquid into the man’s throat, causing him to cough and gag involuntarily.  Then he dropped him, his skull striking the stone floor with an audible crack, and left.

 

They were drugging him.  Why were they drugging him?

 

She made a sudden decision.  Darting to him, she rolled him up onto one shoulder and slid her finger down his throat.  He gagged and fought her - even unconscious - and threw up.

\---

The sun was well up when the man moved.  The girl was dozing, shivering against the wall.  She had covered the man with his tunic, figuring he needed the warmth more than she did.

“Danchou.” He said clearly. “S … ry

He was trying to raise his right arm.  The girl had straightened his broken fingers as well as she could and had splinted and bandaged them.  His tunic slid halfway off of him as he tried again and succeeded in bumping the bridge of his nose with the clumsy wrapping. The girl took his wrist, afraid he'd hurt himself, and his eyes sprang open.

 

Oh.  They were grey.  Like a storm on the ocean grey, dark and cold.

 

His left arm shot up and he had her, tight, by the throat.  She couldn’t even scream.  She did jerk back, though, and that action pulled him up.  He hissed in pain and his grip loosened slightly.  He leaned forward and coughed blood.

 

She struggled, panicking, both hands on his wrist.  “Please don’t!” she said, just barely able to draw breath enough to speak. “I helped you!”

 

“Don’ … care”  His voice was a hoarse whisper. He was clearly having trouble getting his thoughts together.  He slowly took in the dripping walls, the darkness, the window, and the door. He turned back to her, teeth clenched in pain. “Why I … here?”

 

“I don’t know!  Did you steal something?”

 

Shockingly the man coughed out a harsh laugh.  His hand slipped from her neck and he gingerly held his broken ribs.

 

She wrung her hands, “Lie back down, why don’t you?”

 

He looked at her blearily.  “Zo you … kill … me?”  But he slumped back down.

 

She tried to take his broken hand, but he pulled it away. “No.  No … tudge.”  he seemed to drift off, his eyes closing.  She laid the arm out straight.

His eyes opened again and he frowned up at the ceiling.  He didn't seem able to form words right that second.

She smoothed her hand down his arm. “It’s alright.  I’m not going to kill you  I’m not going to hurt you at all -”

“No.  Tudge.  M …” he said with difficulty, trying to move his arm.

“OK, OK.  I won’t touch you.  Sorry.”  She held up both hands, palms out. 

“I kill … you.” he whispered.  She could see the pain and frustration and weak rage in his eyes.

“No.  Don’t kill me.  I won’t touch you.”  She immediately broke her promise and pushed a strand of hair out of his good eye.  He hissed like a cat.

She retreated a bit, so he was out of reach.  “If … if you need anything,” she began, cringing immediately at how lame she sounded.  “Like water, or anything.  My name is Meg.”

His eyes fluttered shut.

 

When the hatch in the door opened only one bowl of gruel was pushed in

Were they trying to starve him to death?  Why not just kill him?

Meg suddenly felt like crying. She clutched the bowl and fought back tears. She realized that despite his strangeness and his anger she couldn't bear to think of him dead. If he died she'd be alone in here. As long as he was here she had a human to talk to, a purpose to fulfil. 

She crouched down next to him but didn't touch him. “Hey. Hey! Wake up, scary man.”

His eyes opened. She marveled at how pretty they were. 

“Leave me ‘lone,”  He said immediately

Meg frowned. “No. You need to try to eat, scary man. Do you want some water?”

“I kill you,” he rasped. He began slowly and awkwardly patting at the tunic that covered him like a blanket. 

“You've said that before,”  Meg pointed out

He fell back down, worn out by the brief activity. 

“Sword gone. Knife gone,” He said to the ceiling. He sounded almost sad. 

Meg sat quietly, not knowing what to do. 

“Leave me ‘lone,”  He said again. 

“No.”  Meg said. “Not until you're better.”  She crossed her arms. 

He turned his head and focused on her with difficulty. “Bed’r… than what?”

Meg leaned closer but not close enough for him to reach her (or her, him). “Do you not remember what happened?  That you got …” she grimaced. “Hurt?  Bad?”

He studied the ceiling again. His fine black brows knit as he seemed to searched his memory. 

“Can't think!” He snarled abruptly. “Ev’thing hurts.”

Suddenly he focused on her again. “Wait … I drunk?  I drunk!  Figh’ somebody?”  He looked her over slowly. “Who you?  We do it?”

Meg stared, open mouthed, struggling to interpret his abbreviated language. “What?”

“We fuck?”

Meg’s cheeks went pink. “Oh! Uh …”

He relaxed onto the floor, eyes closed before she could answer.  “I hope so. I fuck you. You prid… ee.” He sighed and was asleep. 

 

\---

 

 

She was cleaning his wounds again. Rinsing off the fresh blood from when he tried to move, when the door opened. 

Meg scuttled backwards on instinct. The shadow man for tonight repeated his performance down to the letter. Grab the small man's hair, tilt head back, pour vile yellow liquid down his throat. 

This time the little man struggled, coughing, but amazingly the shadow man didn't seem to notice the increase in activity. 

Meg waited until the door swung ponderously shut before she launched herself at the small man. She knew he would react badly to what she was going to do, so she simply grabbed him from behind and slid her finger down his throat. 

He fought, and gagged, and finally threw up messily onto the floor. 

He flung himself over, toward Meg, thankfully away from the vomit, and then on rolled on top of her. He was incredibly strong considering his injuries. 

He pinned her down with his body and forced her hands down with his own. Meg realized that that had to have turned his broken hand into a vortex of pain, not to mention his ribs. 

She lay on her back, him on top of her. He retched a few times, dripping the yellow liquid onto her face. 

“Whadduh  _ fuck _ ?” He choked out.  “You … you put han’ in  _ mouth _ ...”

“It's poison. They're giving you poison. To make you … “. she searched for a word.

His arms gave out suddenly and he collapsed onto her. “They drug .,,”

“Yes!  Yes, they are drugging y-”

He had passed out. On top of her. 

 

It was night again and there was almost no light.  Meg was in her accustomed spot huddled for warmth.  It was getting colder.  It had been late autumn when she’d been put in here so winter must be comeing.  Meg stared at the still form of the scary man and wistfully at his tunic.  She should just take it.  Devil take the hindmost.

Without her permission her brain recalled him passing out.  On her.  And how warm he was.  

_ He’s asleep. I could just ease under the tunic with him and we'd both be warm… _

_ What the hell are you thinking? _

 

It was close to dawn. The man groaned and slowly rolled over.

Meg didn't move. He’d choked her and pinned her to the floor.  She wasn’t gung ho on approaching him again.

Incredibly, he was trying to stand up.  That was too much.  Meg stood as well and crept towards him, arms outstretched in what she hoped was a soothing gesture.  He swayed on his feet, then seemed to get his balance.  His bandaged hand was on his broken ribs.  He grunted in anger and stared at the bandage.  Then he started trying to rip it off.

“Hey!  No!  Don’t do that!” Meg cried, leaping forward.  He jerked his head up and tried to focus on her, staggering backwards.  Meg grabbed him by his good arm’s elbow and slid her other arm around his waist to keep him from falling.

They stood frozen in an awkward tableau, looking like some nightmare couple stilled in a slow dance.

Meg had the presence of mind to try to draw back before he could react but he still shoved her.  “Get offa me!”  He swayed again but recovered.

“Don't take your bandage off, then!”  Meg yelled, “Your fingers are broken!”

The scary little man - he was several centimetres shorter than Meg - stared fuzzily at his clumsily bandaged hand.  “Broken?”  He echoed.

“Yes, yes, they ...uh, got broken.  Three of them.  I’ve splinted … you must be in so much pain.”

The small man turned his head slowly toward her.  His eyes glittered almost silver.  

“Pain no problem.  I give pain.”

Meg frowned, “What?”

“I give pain.  It what I do.”  He staggered again and Meg surreptitiously grabbed his elbow again.  He shook his head.  Clearly the sedative he was being given was still in his system.

He shook her off suddenly.  “No touch. Don’ need you.”

“You'd probably be dead if is wasn't for me!” Meg spat. 

He narrowed his eyes at her. “No,’ he said in a low voice, “I no need you.  No need an’body.”  He drew himself up. “I give pain.  I Feitan.  I member of Gen’ei Ryodan”

Meg backed away from him, wide eyed. “Y-you’re a member of the Phantom T-troupe?” she breathed.  

Feitan ignored her. He began looking around the dank, dark room, at the stone walls, the single window.  “Gotta get outta here.” He mumbled to himself “  Phinks’n’chrollo wonder where I am.”

He lifted his left hand to wipe his hair out of his face and hissed in pain.

“See?” Meg said. “You’re hurt too badly to - “

Feitan jerked around and almost fell. He leveled a finger at her. “Stupid girl!” He barked. “Unless you get me out of here or you gonna suck my dick, you  _ no use _ to me!  Stay away from me!”

Meg closed her mouth and fought back tears. 

He made two slow circuits of the room inspecting every nook and cranny. On his third trip around he stumbled to a halt and leaned his forehead against the stone wall.  She could hear his struggled breathing from where she sat.

Meg sniffled and stood.  She came close to him very slowly and from an angle.  He cut his eyes toward her and watched her as she eased closer.

“You crying, stupid girl?” He rasped. “Crying … no …”

“You have to be in pain.  Please … at least sit down and drink some water.”

He closed his eyes and seemed to gather himself for a terse reply but he never made it.  He coughed and a trickle of blood dripped from the center of his lower lip.

He started to slide down the wall. 

Meg slipped up under his right arm and he sagged against her.  She gently lowered him to the floor. 

His eyes opened. “Don’ need help.” He whispered. “Crybaby.”

Meg wiped the spit and blood off of his chin. 

“I can't do anything else. At least let me help you.”

He watched her face. A few tears trickled down her cheeks. 

“I r’member.” he said quietly.  He dropped his head briefly and his soft black hair brushed Meg’s face. “I r’member … bastards.”

“You remember what happened?”  Meg trembled.  She imagined remembering would be almost as bad as experiencing.

Feitan nodded.

“Why are they doing this?  Why are they drugging you?”

The small man gestured unsteadily with his bandaged hand. “Gotta drug Feitan.  Gotta.”  He coughed again, another tiny runnel of blood dripped from his lip. “Gotta drug or I  blow place up.”  He suddenly cackled like a crazy man and Meg drew back, frightened. “Blow ev’thing up!  Burn evr’body!  Melt hinges on door!”

He abruptly crumpled.  Meg gently lifted him up so his ribs weren't squashed.

He looked up blearily as if seeing her for the first time.  Then recognition dawned.

“You gon’ get me out, blow me, or cry about it, stupid girl?”  He asked. 

“None of those.” She said. 

“Worth a try.”. He croaked “I drink water, now.”

 

Meg got him to drink a couple of handfuls of water and eat a small bit of congealed gruel.  He lay flat for her while she anxiously looked his injuries over.

“You healer?” he asked lifting his bandaged hand. “You good at this”

Meg shook her head.  She blushed.  “Actually, I'm a thief.  Not a very good one.  Got caught and thrown in here.”

“What you steal?”

Meg ran her fingertips over the bruise that covered his broken ribs and he sucked in his breath. “Hands cold!”

“Sorry.”

“So what you steal, pretty thief?”  He rather liked her cool, soft, hands on his skin. He wanted her to do it again.

Meg chewed her lip.  “Books.”

“Books?  You need to meet my boss.  He love books.”

“Why did they do this to you … Feitan?” She asked suddenly

The man arched his brows at her using his name.

“What do you know that they wanted so badly that they beat you … cut you.”  She sobbed in frustration and dabbed at an oozing drop of blood. 

“Tch!  Crying again!”  He watched her cool hands wipe blood off his skin. “Don't know.” He said finally, lying back and staring at the ceiling. “They never ask me anything.”

\---

The shadow man came right before dawn

He looked around the dark space, unable to find Feitan. Finally he spotted him slouched against the wall. He took out the vial of yellow liquid and crossed to him.

Wash, rinse, repeat.  He tipped the stuff into Feitan's mouth, listened to him choke and gag with satisfaction then turned to go. 

Meg burst out of the shadows, flinging herself onto the man. She tried to get her thumbs in his eyes, she bit, she scratched. 

“Leave him alone you bastard!  Haven't you hurt him enough?!”

The man fell back, overwhelmed, and Meg followed him, fingers bent into claws, teeth bared. As the man fled out the door and slammed it behind him, Meg screamed. “Don't hurt him again!  Don't even touch him!  I _ will  _ squash you like a  _ bug _ !”

Feitan, meanwhile, vomited up everything he could.  He sagged back against the wall and watched the girl as she paced back and forth, breathing through gritted teeth, fists clenched, trying to calm down. 

Her strength and determination turned him on. He suddenly wanted to touch her, taste her, feel that strength under his hands, under his mouth.

“Hey … Meg girl” he said softly. “Come look at ribs again. I hurt.”

She came immediately, smoothing her soft hands over his bruised side, her fingers dancing lightly over his ribs. 

Feitan covered her hand with his. She looked up and blushed. 

“Cold” he said as pitifully as he could manage. “Sleep next to me?  Keep me warm?”

Meg didn't need to be asked twice. 

\---

He lay on his left side as close to her as possible. He had his right arm tight around her and his face pressed into her back between her shoulder blades. 

She shivered.

Feitan lifted his head. “You cold.”

“Y-y-yes.” She said drily, teeth chattering. “It's cold.”

“We fuck.” Feitan suggested.

“O-oh my g-god!”

“I fuck you.” He assured her. “I like you”. He stroked her hip with his arm below the bandage. 

“Stop th-that!  Don't you ever th-think of anything else?!”

Feitan shrugged and pressed his face into her back again. 

“Besides,” Meg said suddenly, “You're in no condition to be having sex.”

“I fine.  I still do it.” He said, voice muffled. There was a pause ”or ... you be on top.” He suggested slyly.

“Oh m-my god!  I'd squash you!”

“Like bug?”

She couldn't help but chuckle. “Like a bug.”

He began stroking her hip again.  The skin on the inside of his forearm was so soft.  “So … you wanna get on top?”

“No!”

Feitan yawned. “Shut up then, idiot. Go to sleep.”

\----

Feitan had slowly inspected the room again and had decided that the only way to get out of there was to overwhelm the shadow man.  Unfortunately, their last ruse, having Meg attack the guy while Feitan threw up the poison, had backfired on them.  When the hour came there were  _ two _ shadow men.

Feitan cursed quietly as they paused to let their eyes adjust.  He was in no condition to fight and Meg was not a fighter at all.  He rapidly thought about what to do.

The two spotted him. One stayed by the door and the other crossed to him, throwing a glance at Meg who was flattened to the wall under the window.

The guy had to really fight to get the liquid down Feitan’s throat this time.  He finally broke off and hurried toward the door.  He had gotten about halfway when Meg broke out of the shadows and fell on the guy by the door.

Feitan, too busy shoving his finger down his throat and vomiting, didn't see her desperate move.

Meg, fueled by fury and frustration, bit, kicked, and scratched.  The man fell under the onslaught.  Meg was just standing when the second man reached her.  He snatched her by the hair and whirled her around, pushing her arm up behind her back.

Before he could revel in his victory, a small, dark shadow came upon him, slashing, and he was no longer a human but a twitching mass of blood and flesh on the floor.

They ran.  They ran like rabbits, holding hands like lovers.  They ran until Feitan couldn’t run any more.

\---

Feitan got them a hotel room - Meg didn't ask how.

She took the opportunity to bathe, washing months of filth off of her skin, washing her hair, and her clothes as well.

When she got out of the shower, damp and wrapped in a towel, Feitan was lying back on the single bed, rubbing his cock through his trousers.

Meg stopped. “Really?” she asked, hands on hips.

“I been wanting you,” Feitan said, trying to sound pitiful.

“Really?” Meg asked.  Truth was she had wanted him for a while too.

“Really,” the small thief said. “See?”

Meg gasped and colored.

Feitan had his not unimpressive cock in his hand, stroking slowly.  It was gorgeous and thick and already leaking pre-cum.

“You get on top?” Feitan asked. “I  _ so _ hurt.”

Meg gave him a look but climbed onto the bed.  She slung one long leg over his hips and he put his hands on her waist.

“Sit up” she said

“Why?”

“Cuz I said so.”

Feitan sighed and sat up, moving his hands from her waist to her breasts, kneading gently.  She felt his dick twitch and he pushed upward, pressing it against her crotch.  In this position he had to look up at her face and when he did so she leaned in to kiss him.

He drew back. “No kiss.”

“Why not?”

“I no like.”

He took in her disappointed expression and sighed again.  “OK.  just one.”

He didn't come closer so she ended up having to kiss him.  He didn't reciprocate at all, either, so she planted tiny little kisses all over his mouth.  As she got to the corner of his lips he stirred, turning his head to her and opening his mouth a sliver.  Meg slid the tip of her tongue in and kissed him slightly deeper.

The thief drew back and stared at her like he’d never seen her before.

He finally leaned forward just a little.  “Do again,” He whispered.

Meg very carefully took his face in her hands and kissed him again.  He opened his mouth this time and leaned slightly in, putting his arms around her.  Meg slid her tongue into his mouth, touching his tongue, exploring.

Feitan moaned and his rock hard cock strained up against her vulva. Meg rolled her hips, grinding down on his erection and kissing him deeply.

He was responding now, tentatively and awkwardly trying to mimic her movements.  Getting bolder.  He was a quick study.

But the new skill was quickly abandoned.  His breath was coming in ragged pants and he fell on her neck, licking and biting.  His hands roamed everywhere, gripping, stroking, fondling.

“You make me crazy,” he gasped. “Get up … get …”

Meg reached between her legs and grabbed his shaft and he hissed in a breath. She stroked, once, twice, coating him with pre cum and then lowered herself onto him. 

Feitan moaned, high and needy, as she slid down his length. His grip on her thighs was bruising, his head thrown back, gasping for breath. 

“Meh-hegg!  Feel good! Ahh!  Ahhh!”

She rocked her hips forward and he bucked up into her.

“Fuck!  I not … not last ...long.”

He snaked his left hand down between them, where it was already hot and wet, and, palming her, pressed his thumb firmly onto her clit.

Meg yelped and ground into his hand as he began to rub, riding him harder and faster.

Feitan struggled to keep it together as the friction increased, teetering on the edge of his orgasm.

Meg panted, rocking her hips against his.

“Haa!  Haa!  Ah, god, Fei - Fei- !”

Meg stiffened, back arched, grinding down on Feitan’s cock and came. “Nnh!  Nnh!  Ahhhh!  Fei _ tan _ !”

She involuntarily closed her thighs on his healing ribs, as her pussy gripped his dick tight, and he grunted, coming hard inside her.

\---

Feitan eased back slowly, every part of him - it seemed - hurting.  Maybe she’d been right about him not quite being ready for sex.  He reviewed in his mind her riding him hard and fast, breasts bouncing enticingly, making him cum.  Nope.  He was ready.

Meg slept peacefully, tangled in the sheets, cum all down her thighs.  Feitan gathered her up in his arms as best he could, molding himself to her back, burying his face in her hair.  He surreptitiously fondled one soft breast as he snuggled into her, sighing contentedly.

It made being tortured almost worth it.


End file.
